


Getting Out

by HufflepuffChildOfApollo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And Now They Learn About Consequences, At Least He's Trying Though!, Based on a Tumblr Post, Character Death, Death Eaters, Diagon Alley, Fun Stuff!, Gen, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Implied/Referenced Torture, Knockturn Alley, Knockturn Alley inns — not the nicest places!, Lots of colliding aesthetics, Lucius Malfoy's A+ Parenting, Minor Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Narcissa Black Malfoy is a -decent- Parent, Non-Death-Eater Draco Malfoy, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Selkies, Spiders, They F-cked Up Bad, Unreliable Narrator, because if it wasn't For The Aesthetic™ it wouldn't be me writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-02-22 14:56:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22684597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HufflepuffChildOfApollo/pseuds/HufflepuffChildOfApollo
Summary: A little AU fic where Draco is not having his parents' Death Eater BS.(Better summary: Draco ditches his parents to do a bit of life-rethinking and traveling. Teaming up with a half-selkie teenage innkeeper isn't really part of his plans, but he's not super picky about traveling companions as long as they're not planning to kill him.Meanwhile, his parents learn about Consequences, and Lucius realizes that maybe torturing people because they're different is the wrong approach.)
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 41





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Based somewhat off of this Tumblr post: https://i.pinimg.com/736x/06/b9/9a/06b99abae9b3547dfef7f91987c14198.jpg  
> https://i.pinimg.com/736x/47/33/8f/47338f5383e8771eafe6cf6c6738f50a.jpg
> 
> Loosely based, but. Based. Have fun reading!

_Splash. Splash. Splash._

Cold water washed over the traveler's feet as he strode warily through the dark alley, his dark cloak dragging on the wet cobblestones. 

_Drip, drip, drip_

Rainwater trickled down the sloping, caving-in roof of the old inn, dripping off the faded wooden sign out front. The traveler glanced upward at the sign, examining the faint insignia painted on the sign — a goblet and a fang — before he stepped under the eaves.

_Creeeak_

The door opened slowly, sending rats scurrying across the grimy, rotting planks of the floor. A single lantern illuminated the near-empty space, the room's single occupant dozing behind the counter, his grizzled beard catching streams of drool.

_Squish._

The traveler held back a shout of disgust as his foot made contact with what must have been a lucky cat's dinner — a disemboweled rat, its head half bitten off. He fought back the urge to gag, walking on. Clouds of black dust billowed up around his feet as he walked. 

_Brrrring!_

He rang the bell on the counter. The old barkeep's head shot up, wrinkled eyelids opening to reveal wild, murky greenish-brown eyes with milky pink sclera. The traveler recoiled, but stood still. 

"I'm looking for a room," he said in a shaky, falsely deep voice. The barkeep eyed the stranger, whose face, hidden under a hood, was hard to make out, but whose voice was unmistakably adolescent. 

"We don't serve underage wizards," he said gruffly. "Go back to your parents."

"I have money," the young wizard said. 

"Ha!" The barkeep scoffed. "A night's stay'll cost you no less than sixteen Galleons and eight Sickles. That's _if_ you're of age."

"I've got enough," the boy persisted. "And you need the business! You haven't had many customers lately." By now the boy had dropped all pretense of adulthood, his voice cracking slightly at its natural pitch. The barkeep scowled. 

"What would you know of it?" he sneered. "You ain't old enough to be wandering these parts at this time of night!"

"I'm plenty old enough!" the boy argued indignantly. "I'll pay you extra. Just one night. I'll be out of here by morning." The boy's time had an edge of desperation and exhaustion. 

The barkeep snorted. "Fine. Rooms are upstairs. Just pick a key." He gestured to a tin on the counter full of different keys of all shapes and sizes, each one engraved with a number.

The boy hesitated, seeing the dirt and mold that covered the keys; Then, coming to a decision, he dug a handful of coins from his cloak pocket, counting out sixteen of the gold ones, and eight of the silver. He placed the money on the counter, and reached for a key.

"Ah-ah!" The barkeep smacked his hand away. "The extra! Or else you can take your business elsewhere, and I can take _mine_ to the Ministry of Magic! I'm sure they'd be interested to hear about a runaway hiding out in these parts."

The boy glared at the barkeep, rubbing his aching hand. "I was waiting for you to name a price," he said in a wounded tone.

"Ten Galleons; No less!"

The boy opened his mouth to argue, before deciding it would be pointless and digging out the coins. 

"There," he snapped, throwing them on the counter; He grabbed a key and dashed up the stairs. The barkeep spluttered indignantly.

"You get back here! I'll teach you to disrespect — No way to treat a —" But, realizing the boy was long gone, he trailed off, muttering to himself. 

"Ungrateful, disrespectful little brat, ought to tan his hide. Why, in _my_ day..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the prologue! The story and backstory will be built up in the next chapter :)


	2. Chapter one: Less Than Ideal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco Malfoy spends a night in a less-than-ideal room at the inn; meanwhile, at the Manor, his parents worry.

Draco Malfoy threw back his hood, pausing at the top of the stairs to catch his breath. His legs threatened to give out any moment, tired from walking most of the day (and night). His eyes strained to see in the almost pitch-black hallway he found himself in, and he found himself lamenting the fact he couldn't use his wand. 

_Just be glad you aren't in that hellhole anymore,_ part of him reprimanded. _Better here without magic than with those lunatics._

Sighing, he looked down at the key in his hand. It was rusty, and sticky, like someone had spilled their drink on it; the smell of alcohol that hung on it seemed to confirm that. Through the greenish mold that stuck to it, he could see the number 17 etched on the bow. Keeping the key in his hand, he walked down the hall, keeping his eyes open for the door marked 17. 

When he found the room and got inside, he he almost wished he'd just slept out in the alley. 

The floorboards creaked loudly at the lightest step, and half of them looked like they'd crumble at a touch; The rug in front of the door was covered in some sticky purple slime, and in the middle of the bed — which didn't have a quilt or blankets, only an oversized fitted sheet — was a large bloodstain. Draco tried very hard not to think where it might have come from. 

_You got yourself into this,_ he thought ruefully as he stripped the bed. He couldn't find any clean sheets in the cupboards, but he found a blanket that was clean but for a small burned spot on one corner, and a threadbare quilt that was only half as big as the queen-size bed, but would work well enough. Both had been piled in the corner, along with some curtains, which Draco hung back up on the window above the bed. The bloody sheets he threw in a hamper, along with the many moth-eaten and dirty articles of clothing he'd found in his search for decent bedding.

After he had gotten his sleeping situation in order, he went to check the adjoining bathroom. It, as it turned out, was (surprisingly) clean in comparison, and looked as if it had been cleaned recently. The water in the tap was freezing, but it ran clear, and there was one clean towel in the cupboard (Also in the cupboard was a small book, which upon further inspection seemed to be someone's diary of all the people they'd either A: killed, or B: slept with; possibly both. Draco wasn't exactly sure). 

After double-checking the doors and windows were secure, Draco took off his shoes and crawled into bed, wrapping his cloak around himself. He put out the candle at the bedside. 

He could hear rats scurrying under the floor and in the walls all night, and it wasn't until very late that he got to sleep at all.

xXx

"He can't have gone far."

Lucius Malfoy stood calmly in his study, a glass of Firewhisky in his hand as he examined a map of Wiltshire tacked on the wall. Across the room, his wife paced back and forth in front of his desk. 

"You know that isn't true, Lucius," she said, hysteria creeping into her voice. "He could have taken the Knight Bus! And with that, there's no telling how far..."

"He won't be anywhere he doesn't know." Lucius tapped his wand against the map and it rolled up. "And the Ministry know to look for him."

"Oh, Lucius, _why_ did you have to let him see—?" Narcissa's face twisted, something like disgust appearing on her face for a moment. "He's too young. _They_ were too young. It wasn't right."

"They were Muggles, Narcissa. He saw worse at the World Cup last summer," Lucius retorted smoothly. "He's a Malfoy. If he is to follow in my footsteps —"

"You weren't expected to torture _children_ at his age, Lucius!" Narcissa snapped, before regaining her composure somewhat. "The Dark Lord won't be pleased by this."

"I'm aware," Lucius said, turning back to the wall, where beneath the first map, another — this one of Wizarding London — was stuck in place. "Not to worry. We'll have him back before the week's gone. The Dark Lord will never have to know."


	3. Chapter two: A Rude Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco suffers through a restless night, while his parents wait for news.

_Crack!_

Draco opened his eyes a little, looking around; mere seconds later he found himself sprawled on the floor among the splintered remains of the bed. Groaning, he untangled himself from the covers and stood up. 

"Ow..." he mumbled, rubbing his shoulder, which has taken most of his weight when he fell.

Someone pounded on the door. "Oi, keep it down!" they shouted; from their voice, Draco guessed it was a woman. 

"Sorry!" he replied irritably, looking out the window; the moon was still up, and the sky was dark. "Bloody hell, not even morning yet..?"

"Hey, you gonna let me in or what?" the woman shouted, pounding on the door again. Draco gritted his teeth, walking over and opening the door a sliver. 

A short, thin woman with messy hair stood in the hall, a mop in one hand and a bucket of murky water in the other. 

"Housekeeping," she said in a nasally voice not unlike Pansy Parkinson's; only with the unfortunate addition of a slight drunken slur. 

"It's not even morning yet," Draco complained. She shrugged.

"Boss said clean your room. Took him this long to figure out which key you took, I s'pose." 

Draco rolled his eyes, pulling his hood up and opening the door. "Fine, come in," he said in annoyance. _Not as if I'm getting any more sleep anyway..._ "The bed broke," he informed her. 

"Just _broke,_ eh?" she murmured, prodding the mess of dust and wood with her mop.

" _Yes_ ," he said, impatient. "Can you fix it?"

"Alright, alright, don't get your knickers in a twist..." She drew her wand and tapped it on the broken bed frame, muttering, " _Reparo."_ The pieces flew back together, scattering dust around the room. Draco coughed, his eyes watering as he blinked dirt out of them. 

"There. Bed's fixed. Bathroom clean?"

"The bathroom's fine," he muttered. 

"Floor in here's a bit messy —"

"Could you just go?" he interrupted desperately. "I'd like to get some sleep, if you don't mind."

"Boss said to clean up —"

"And you did. Tell him you did." Draco sighed. 

"Alright, alright...bossy..." She sighed, putting her wand away. "Right, I'll leave you to it. Goodnight."

She turned and walked out, the faded blue skirt of her robe trailing in the dust. Draco closed the door behind her, locking it before walking back over to the bed. He leaned on it first, testing it, before laying down again. He tossed and turned — slowly — throughout the night.

Finally, early in the morning when a dim, gloomy light crept into the room through the thin curtains, he arose after not having a wink of sleep. He sighed, rubbing his eyes and running a hand through his hair, before rolling out of bed. 

He stumbled to the bathroom, hurrying through an uncomfortably freezing shower and dressing in some clothes he'd taken from the Manor. Then he out on his cloak and left the inn, leaving his key on the counter. After that, he headed off toward Diagon Alley.

xXx

Narcissa burst into Lucius's study, hair disheveled and the skirt of her nightdress held up in her hand so as not to trip over it. Had anyone but Lucius seen her, she would have been scandalized. 

"Any news?" she gasped, quite out of breath, looking at Lucius. His head was down, eyes focused on the parchment on his desk.

"No," he replied unhappily. "It appears he was thorough in covering his tracks; the Knight Bus conductor from last night didn't have any record of a Malfoy _or_ Black traveling with him last night, and the Leaky Cauldron had nobody who fit the description."

"What about Knockturn Alley?" she pressed. Lucius hesitated.

"It's difficult to search there; Aurors don't know all the locations, and I can't tell them without incriminating myself and making my patronage known," he explained. "I'll have to go myself once they've finished searching the known shops, and who knows how long that will take? There are hundreds of people willing to take in an underage wizard for a few extra coins, and Draco has never been above bribery."

Narcissa groaned in frustration, stomping a slippered foot and pacing across the room, a hand pulling at her hair. "Why aren't the Ministry doing something?" she exclaimed, wringing her other hand. "He's underage, hasn't he got the Trace?"

"He has, but it will only take effect if he does magic," Lucius reminded her. "And if he did, the Ministry are likely too caught up in this Potter business —"

"Ugh, don't even _mention_ that vile boy's name!" she spat. "I imagine he's the reason for all this! He's influenced our Draco! Why, if not for that _boy,_ Draco would've never been exposed to such _filth—"_

"Calm yourself, Narcissa," Lucius said sternly. " Weren't you just last night saying Draco was too young?"

"Of course he's too young!" she scoffed. "But running off like this — it's unacceptable! Inexcusable! And of course it's from my side — Sirius, Andromeda — Ugh. I'd hoped we could curb his rebellious tendencies, but — Oh, why didn't I just send him to Durmstrang like you wanted?" She threw herself sulkily into an armchair, crossing her arms. Lucius sighed heavily. 

"Narcissa," he began, looking up; he froze when he saw she was crying, tears spilling down her cheeks and splashing onto her dress. Sighing again, Lucius stood and walked over to her, kneeling beside her. 

"You're not to blame, Narcissa," he said, in as gentle a tone as he had ever used. "You were right. Perhaps he was too young for me to ask that of him."

Narcissa nodded slightly, a hiccup-like sob slipping out as she reached up to brush away tears. "I...I'm worried, Lucius...he's only a boy." He looked at him, her sky-blue eyes framed with long, wet eyelashes, still covered in smudged mascara from the previous night. "And without magic — anything could happen to him — he could be anywhere in the country by now." 

Lucius nodded his head wearily, meeting her eyes with a sigh. "I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems Lucius and Narcissa are becoming more self aware


	4. Chapter three: Out and About

Draco sighed, counting the coins in his hand. He still had thirty Galleons, eighty-five Sickles, and forty-nine Knuts left, but if all the innkeepers and bartenders he met were like the last one, it wouldn't last long; and he still needed to eat. 

Deciding to put the problem on the proverbial back burner, he walked off down the street, pulling his hood up more securely as he stepped out into the open. 

Diagon Alley wasn't nearly as crowded in the early morning as it was whenever he came to get school supplies with his parents, and there was far less danger of suspicion while it was still dark, but he stayed to the shadows for good measure as he made his way toward the Leaky Cauldron. 

He walked into the pub, which felt cheery and bright compared to The Poison Goblet, despite the rather gloomy trio of young women leaned against the wall in the alley behind it. Nobody paid him any attention as he walked to the counter. 

"Morning, what will you have?" the bartender asked cheerfully. Draco faltered; he'd never come here for food before.

"What would you recommend?" he asked experimentally. "Anything suitable for breakfast?"

"I've found the banana muffins to be exceptional, though the eggs and toast are quite excellent too."

Draco nodded slowly. "I'll, uh...have some of both, then," he said. The bartender have a toothless grin. 

"Right with you, then!" he said, and strolled off through a door behind the bar. Draco sighed, looking around the room. The three young witches had moved inside, and we're sitting at a nearby table, complaining loudly about somebody named Kevin. Draco subtly leaned over to listen, while keeping an eye on the door. 

The story of Kevin was starting to get _very_ interesting — apparently he had dumped Shaylie, the witch nearest Draco, because she had to attend a funeral on their four-and-five-eighths month anniversary — and Draco was quite invested, when the door behind the bar opened again, and a plump middle-aged witch with spiky honey-blond hair walked out, carrying a tray holding a plate of eggs and toast, two muffins and a pot of what looked like coffee. 

"There you go," she said, setting the plate in front of him. "Would you like a cup of coffee?" 

"Yes, please," he said, though he'd never had coffee before; His mother drank string tea with sugar, and his father preferred water (sometimes when Firewhisky added). The woman poured a cup of coffee, and set a pitcher of cream on the counter, before walking off to the next customer. 

Draco took a sip of the coffee and grimaced at the bitter taste. He poured in some cream and stirred in sugar until it was somewhat less disgusting, then drank half the cup before starting on his breakfast. 

When he'd finished he paid the six Sickles for the meal and walked out, pausing to listen a little longer about Kevin before he went on his way. 

Draco stopped at Gringotts and withdrew a hundred Galleons from his family's vault, hoping by the time they got the owl notification he'd be long gone. He got some decent clothes at Twilfitt and Tatting's, then spent the rest of the morning waiting on a bench outside Flourish and Blott's. 

Throughout the day, Draco wandered from shop to shop, not buying anything, until the light started fading outside and one by one the shops started closing. He slowly gravitated back toward Knockturn Alley; much as he disliked it, he might have to stay another night there, and, unfortunately, he knew exactly where he'd have to go. 

xXx

Lucius barged into the library, shutting the doors with a _bang!_ and startling Narcissa, who dropped her teacup, spilling the liquid inside down the front of her skirt. 

"He was in Diagon Alley this morning." He threw a stack of parchment on the stand beside her chair. "Ten eyewitnesses, and he withdrew a hundred Galleons from our vault. He was there _all day,_ Narcissa!" He turned away frustratedly as Narcissa picked up the parchments, reading through them eagerly. 

"Lucius, you have to tell the Ministry — they won't suspect you, it's a natural conclusion — He could be fine by tomorrow, we have to hurry!" She stood up, tea dripping onto the floor from her dress. "I'll owl them myself!"

"I've told them already," Lucius said, massaging his forehead as he looked at her. "They've sent Aurors to look, but it's slow work." 

Narcissa was pacing now, her bare feet leaving wet footprints on the carpet. "I'll look for him myself — I know my way around, it won't take long — I've got to go find him!"

Lucius thought for a moment Narcissa might run off to find him right now, and he had a brief image of her, in her nightdress and bare feet, covered in tea, running through Knockturn Alley in the dark. 

"Narcissa, it's night — our best chance is to wait for morning, and wait around Diagon Alley for him to appear."

Narcissa opened her mouth to argue, but Lucius cut her off. "If we get there early enough, it will be easy to catch him before he leaves. You know he doesn't like traveling when it's dark," he reminded her. 

"Lucius, we have our chance!" Excitement flooded out in Narcissa's voice, and she was clutching the parchments tightly. "We'll get him back. We've found him."

For the first time in days, Narcissa smiled; Lucius didn't have the heart to argue this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the prologue note that keeps appearing on the other chapters, I don't know how to get rid of it


	5. Chapter four: Uneasy Exploration

Necrosis Housing was a small cluster of large houses at the furthest end of Knockturn Alley; it was, in purpose, similar to a Muggle apartment house. If Muggle apartment houses were steeped in Dark Magic, spilled poison and an infestation of Brown Recluse spiders, brought over and accidentally released by a reckless Dark Magizoologist from North America years before.The spiders' rot-inducing bites gave the housing system its name, as well as an unsavory reputation. And, unfortunately, it was where Draco was staying. 

He stood in front of the towering structure in the center of the cluster, which stood four floors high, with an attic under the steep-peaked roof and a cellar below. Draco had heard from Vincent Crabbe that the cellar was a storage room for dead bodies, and the attic a secret torture room. Draco hoped neither of those were true, but he wouldn't have been surprised. The advantage to such crummy accommodations was easy to see, though; His parents wouldn't expect it. 

Steeling himself, he walked inside. There was nobody at the desk inside; just a bucket of coins and a sign:

**One Galleon per key**

**Spider bite treatment 10 Sickles**

**Breakfast 3 Sickles**

**NO REFUNDS**

**Any possessions left in rooms become property of the next occupant.**

_Lovely place,_ Draco thought sarcastically. He tossed a Galleon in the bucket and took one of the keys that hung on the wall by a large, ancient staircase. Draco guessed it went all the way to the top floor; it wound around the walls, with a landing on each floor. Draco could see missing steps, holes in the planks and nails sticking out hazardously, but it seemed safer than the staircase at the _Poisoned Goblet,_ so he went up. 

His room was on the top floor — on the off chance his parents _did_ happen to show up, the stairs would delay them, and Draco had seen bridges from this house to the next on either side, so he only had to find a route to the nearest one to escape. 

He got into his room through a maze of halls leading away from the center staircase. He found the door that matched the tag tied to his key; a large, faded **'54'** was stamped on the door in chipped blue paint. He was thankful he'd brought gloves from home as he turned the red-stained, splintering wooden doorknob. 

The room at least _looked_ clean, though like the rest of the house it held a faint, sickly smell of death. The dark purple curtains over the dark, boarded-up windows were ripped to shreds, and the floorboards had deep gouge marks as if from claws. Draco shuddered at the thought of what might have made them; the fact that werewolves were the most likely answer was not comforting. 

_At least the Goblet has_ standards, he thought. _No respectable Pureblood should be staying someplace like this. I shouldn't be here._

 _NO,_ another part of him screamed. _this is the only place that's safe right now. And it isn't like you have anywhere else to go._

He sighed, hanging his cloak on the back of a chair and taking another look around the room. The walls were painted a dark shade of teal, with only a few black stains and scratch marks. The bed was an oddity; half of the frame was black iron twisted into elegant swirls, the other half wood with designs painted on in faded yellow; a skull was painted on the wooden half of the headboard in bright gold. On the walls hung several faded paintings, one of a forlorn-looking young woman, one of a mermaid and one that, if he squinted, could possibly have been a group of trees. 

There was a vanity in the corner, and after curiously searching through the drawers Draco found a number of things that both intrigued and unsettled him; A bloodstained letter letter that threatened painful death on the recipient (someone named Brean), a lacy handkerchief with a map drawn on it, half a dozen combs, a locket containing two pictures (one of a red-haired woman in a bathing suit and one of a squirrel), and a box containing three presumably human fingers, their nails painted light blue. Also in the drawers were around a hundred dead spiders. 

Draco was regretting coming to this place more and more with every spider corpse he unearthed — He wasn't particularly scared of arachnids, but for Merlin's sake, some of them were as big as his hand, if not bigger! — and he decided that two nights was the most he would allow himself to stay, if that. He had a feeling that was as long as he could take. 

_But hey,_ he told himself. _at least it's better than staying home._

xXx

The walls were thin, Draco found out. The sounds of the couple in the room next door fighting and making out alternately was enough to make him wish he had another pillow, just so he could throw it at them. From the other room next door all he could hear was an unnerving _crunch_ ing sound. 

"OI! Keep it down!" he snapped when the couple started shouting again. They didn't seem to pay any attention, so he collapsed back on the bed, picking up the book he'd found under the pillow; the title was _317 Ways to Outsmart An Auror,_ which he supposed would be useful if it wasn't so _boring._ He opened the book to the page he had marked, and had just begun reading when he heard voices in the other next-door room. Curious, he got up and pressed his ear against the wall.

"...look at this, Malfoy kid's missing. Parents think he's in the Alley somewhere, reckon Aurors'll be up here searching within a couple days," one voice said. Another laughed. 

"Probably dead, if he's been staying in Knockturn. Good riddance, too. Whole family are a load of scum..."

Draco rolled his eyes, scowling indignantly, and began backing away; the second person's next words froze him in his tracks. 

"If I see him around, reckon it wouldn't be too hard to make it look like an accident. Lots of ways to die around here."

"Hey, haven't you got that werewolf friend? Full moon's not far off."

"Family'd probably still pay a reward for the body."

Feeling nauseous, Draco double-checked his door was locked and went back to bed, but didn't get to sleep; the thought of two people plotting his hypothetical murder in the next room was enough to keep him awake nearly all night, glancing up at the door at every sound, until he finally fell into an uncomfortable sleep. 

xXx

When he arose, tired and thirsty the next morning, Draco met with an unpleasant surprise, and let out a horrified scream loud enough to wake the whole top floor as he found himself nose-to-pincers with a massive spider sitting comfortably on his pillow. He tumbled out of bed, his heart racing as he scrambled for his wand in his cloak. The whole time, the spider wandered around on the pillow, making silent but horrifying clicking sounds. Draco didn't hesitate before sending a Reductor Curse right at it. The spider more or less disintegrated, leaving a pile of gooey dust on the pillow.

 _I am NOT staying another night in this place,_ Draco thought. 

After getting dressed and pocketing the book, one of the combs he'd found, and the handkerchief-map, Draco pulled up the hood of his cloak and made his way through the maze of halls until he reached the bottom of the staircase. 

He walked past the desk, where a thin, sunburned witch with stringy orange hair was asleep, and hung his key on the wall. Then he was out the door, his cloak wrapped tightly around him, for even in the middle of summer Knockturn Alley was freezing, and he was in the darkest part of it. 

It took him nearly an hour to reach Diagon Alley, and even then the sun still hadn't come up; nearly everywhere was closed, except for a small tea shop between Eeylop's Owl Emporium and a secondhand plant store. Deciding he had no other choice, Draco entered the shop. 

The atmosphere inside was welcoming, if a little odd; There were just a few small tables, all covered with lacy tablecloths. The paintings on the walls were all of various woodland creatures, though the painter had taken the artistic liberty of adding horns and wings to all of them. A girl about Draco's age sat behind a counter — which looked like someone had just flattened part of a fallen tree — reading a magazine. 

Draco cleared his throat, and the girl looked up. Her brows raised as she closed her magazine. 

"Mum!" she called, looking over her shoulder. "There's a customer! He looks pretty sketchy, should I serve him or what?" 

Draco rolled his eyes, leaning against the wall. The girl waited a few moments for a response before turning back to Draco. "Have you got an order?"

Draco sighed. "A cup of the herbal tea with cream and four sugars, and a plate of ginger biscuits."

The girl rolled her eyes. "Three Sickles for the tea and biscuits, and a Knut for the extra two sugars." She stood, sliding a piece of parchment and a quill over toward her and writing his order down. "And I'll need a name."

"D— um, Daryl," he said, saying the first name he could think of. The girl raised a brow, scribbling it down. 

"Alright, _Daryl,_ " she said suspiciously. "I'll be right back." She walked off through a doorway behind the counter. Draco waited, tapping his fingers impatiently on the countertop. The door squeaked open behind him.

"We're lucky this place was open," a woman said; Draco froze. 

"Indeed, haven't the Ministry worked out a way to keep rain off the Alley?" 

Draco looked around, hiding behind a pillar and watching as his parents walked to a table and say down, after casting Drying charms on themselves; evidently it had started raining outside. 

"At least we got there early," he heard his mother say. "We won't miss him, there's no way he's going to travel in this weather."

Draco bit his lip, closing his eyes; they were looking for him. _Why_ _didn't I just stay in bed? Maybe that spider could've just finished me off._

"Narcissa, if we do find him, how exactly do you plan to bring him home?" his father asked.

"We probably won't have to. He's a fifteen-year-old boy, he's got nowhere else to go, and no means of getting there. Whatever he withdrew from our Gringotts vault won't last long anyway. We'll just explain that it was all a...misunderstanding."

Draco felt sick. _Misunderstanding? I understood perfectly well._

"And if he still won't come home?" 

"Then I'll Stun him and drag him home." His mother suddenly sounded angry. "There's no law against that, is there, Lucius?"

Draco heard his father sigh, and they both stopped speaking. 

"Order up for Daryl!" the girl at the counter called. Draco sighed, walking over to the counter. 

"Thanks," he muttered, passing her a Galleon. She gave him the change and set down a cup of tea and a plate of lizard-shaped biscuits. 

Draco went over to a table and sat down, keeping an eye on his parents. He finished his tea and biscuits, and so far his parents had paid him no mind, but he was still cautious as he stood and headed for the door. By now a few more places would be open, he hoped; he could avoid his parents until it was light, and he could leave. 

He hung around Flourish & Blott's, and after a while he bought a book just so the salesperson would stop staring at him. It was a small, cheap guide on magical creature hybrids, but it would at least make for interesting reading. 

The morning went uneventfully, but just as he was heading to the Leaky Cauldron, he tripped over an uneven cobblestone; he managed to catch himself before he fell, but his hood fell down. While he struggled to pull it up, he saw his parents across the street; right at that moment, his father looked over. 

_Damn it._ Draco took off, and from the shouts behind him, his parents were in pursuit. He came to the dead end behind the pub and took out his wand, frantically tapping on bricks in the wall. The archway finally appeared just as his parents caught up; he ran through, his heart racing. 

He came out of the pub on the Muggle side of Charing Cross road. Glancing behind him, he held his wand out; a moment later a large purple bus skidded to a stop. 

"Welcome to the Knigh—"

"Yes, yes, listen, I'll pay you extra to just get me out of here," Draco said to the bewildered conductor. The man nodded, holding the door open. Draco climbed aboard and quickly found a seat; the next moment the bus was speeding down the road. Looking out the back window, Draco saw his parents standing by the road. He felt something like regret. 

_They were right. I don't have anywhere to go._


	6. Chapter five: A Lighter Destination

Narcissa watched in dismay, clutching Lucius's arm as the bus rolled away at an impossible speed. 

"We've lost him, Lucius!" she whispered, fighting back tears. "There's no telling where he's gone." 

Lucius reached out to comfort her; she pushed him away, taking out her wand and casting a Silencing Charm around them; then she turned to him with a fierce glare.

"This is all your fault, Lucius!" she shouted. "If you hadn't pressured him the way you did —"

Lucius scowled. "What happened to _your family's_ rebellious streak?" he shot back. "You're not pinning all of this on me!"

"I can't help who I'm related to!" Narcissa said furiously. "You, on the other hand, should have known perfectly well that what you did was a bad idea!"

"I was trying to prepare him, Narcissa! The Dark Lord wants to make him part of the ranks, and if he's going to survive he needs to learn to follow orders!"

"He's _fifteen,_ Lucius! He's got _years_ before he'll be old enough to join! And now he's run away because of you — the Dark Lord _will_ find out, and it'll be our heads on his floor!" Narcissa said. "Draco could have helped Severus, gotten him information about Potter, or Dumbledore — but because of you we don't have that chance!"

Lucius sighed. "Narcissa, we'll continue this discussion at home." 

"Fine! By all means, it's not like we're doing any good here anyway." She walked off, going back into the Leaky Cauldron; Lucius heard a _snap!_ as she Disapparated. He sighed, following her. 

xXx

The bus wasn't crowded, and Draco had no problems finding an empty seat. The main issue was _staying_ in a seat as the bus turned sharp corners and crossed bumpy fields where there was no road. 

"Where you headed?" the conductor — a rather unkempt wizard of twenty or so — asked once they were going. Draco hesitated; he hadn't decided where his next stop would be yet. 

"Where's your furthest stop right now?" he asked. "I'll get off there." 

The conductor looked at the pad of paper in his hand. "Maeve's Isle, Ireland. Little Wizarding town. Nice place for a drink." 

Draco nodded. "I'll get off there."

"That'll be eleven Sickles, it's —" but Draco cut him off before he could start listing the extra accommodations, putting a Galleon in his hand. 

"Don't bother with the change. I don't need anything else." 

The conductor looked bewildered, but shrugged, walking off. Draco sighed, leaning against the window and trying not to be sick. The bus stopped several times, before taking off again. Finally, ten minutes later he stopped in the middle of a fog bank. Draco strained to see through the fog, but found he couldn't. 

"Far as we'll go — bus ain't allowed on the island," the conductor said. "Ferry comes in about twenty minutes."

Draco grimaced, standing; his stomach still felt like it was trying to escape, but he tried to take deep breaths and bear it as he stepped off the bus, alongside an elderly woman with a large bird sitting on her shoulder. He glanced over uneasily, before looking around. The fog had a rather shimmery quality even without light; he suspected it was of magical origin. That or someone had thrown glitter in the air. 

He stood uncomfortably on what he now could tell was a dock, and squinted to see out into the water. 

Twenty minutes later, a small boat bumped into the edge of the dock. It didn't appear there was a driver; this comforted Draco somewhat. Human drivers could very easily crash a boat in thick fog. Magic hardly ever made such mistakes in his experience. The elderly witch stepped into the boat; Draco followed suit. 

Before long he could see the island; he made out the outline of several houses, and what looked like a lighthouse on the far side of the island. The boat came up to a small dock, where a lantern still burned on a post. Draco and the witch stepped off the boat onto what felt like a much sturdier version of the dock on the mainland. The witch set off down the street without a word, her boots making faint prints on the damp dirt path. Draco could see no option but to follow the path up into town. 

The path was only dirt for the first few yards; after that it was larger road, paved with a mix of rocks, seashells and what looked like snail shells as well. The houses along the road were all an interesting mix of stone and driftwood, though several were bright red brick, and one was made of hundreds of shells mortared together. This one had a sign hung over the front door in the shape of a bucket, with words painted on it in fresh blue paint: 

**Blue Bucket Inn**

**Est. 1444**

On each side of the door was a flowerpot overflowing with bright purple and pink petunias; it made Draco's eyes hurt with the contrast between them and the white walls. 

"You gonna come in?" 

Draco looked up, startled. In the time he'd been looking away, the front door had opened and a girl had appeared in the doorway. She looked a little older than him, and in her hand she held a rope, at the other end of which a large dog sat, panting with his tail wagging energetically. 

"I haven't decided yet," Draco replied. "I was just admiring the architecture," he only half-lied. The girl smiled, her nose wrinkling and making the numerous freckles on her face cluster together. Her bushy eyebrows were low over her eyes, but not like she was angry. 

"Well, keep the place in mind," she said, tugging on the dog's lead and walking on down the street. Draco sighed, walking on. 

He spent a few hours exploring the small town, and learned a bit about its inhabitants; most of them were Wizarding folk who made a living with fishing or architecture; a sign on the courthouse —a small building constructed primarily of pillars — informed him that the island had birthed some of the Wizarding _and_ Muggle worlds' best architects, who were capable of working with all manner of 'unique' materials. The waters around the island were also allegedly home to a beast that locals referred to only as 'that horrid thing'. This he found out when a woman stormed past him into the courthouse, tracking mud and seaweed behind her and raving about a destroyed sea garden. 

_Charming place,_ he decided as he made his way back to the inn.

The girl was by the door when he walked in. She flashed him a smile, her dark eyes sparkling. 

"Decided to stay?" she asked cheerfully. 

"I have, as a matter of fact," he replied. 

"Alright, then, name?" she said, taking a pencil out of her hair; the black curls, previously in a bun, cascaded around her shoulders. 

"Uhh-" he shook his head, dragging his gaze away from her hair. "Aries," he answered, with the first _decent_ name that came to mind. 'Daryl' was fine for a tea receipt, but to stay anywhere long-term he'd need something he could repeat without gagging. "Aries Black-McKinnon." He'd pulled both the surnames from his mother's school scrapbook, figuring a half-lie was better than a full lie or the full truth.

"Alright, Aries. Welcome to the Blue Bucket Inn. Rooms are three Sickles a night; guests are allowed as long as you keep it quiet, and no smoking indoors." She smiled. "I'm Ronan Minorie. If you need anything find me or the owner, Shane."

Draco nodded. "Thank you."

"Would you like to go ahead and purchase your key?" she asked. 

"Sure, I'll go ahead." He got out six Sickles, handing them to her. "I'll be here at least two days." 

"Alright!" She grinned, pulling a key out of her pocket and handing it to him. "Enjoy your stay."

Draco nodded, a little taken aback by her friendliness. "Thank you," he said. "Could you point me toward my room, please?"

"Sure! Up the stairs and down the hall, third-last door to your right."

Draco nodded his thanks and followed her directions to a door that was painted light blue; there was no number on it, but a butterfly painted on the door set it apart from the others, which each had a different creature or flower painted on it. 

He opened the door and found a small, neat room, lit up by the sun coming through the window. It was minimally furnished, but it was much preferable to the dark accommodations he'd become used to. 

_Let's hope there aren't any spiders,_ he thought. 


	7. Chapter six: A Peaceful Morning

Draco managed to sleep all night in the room, and figured there must have been Silencing Charms on the rooms — He hadn't heard a single noise all night. That would explain the bell inside the room too; if there were Silencing Charms, it would be hard to hear anyone knocking. 

The first thing he did the next morning was run into town and buy a bottle of hair dye. He was getting tired of constantly wearing his cloak to disguise his appearance, and while he knew a couple of color-change spells, he didn't feel entirely sure use of one wouldn't leave his entire body permanently purple. He settled on a shade of dark ash brown, and after getting back to his room at the inn, set to work on his hair. 

When he was done, and had used a _Scourgify_ to clean the resulting mess, he stood in front of a mirror, examining the result. 

_I look like a vampire,_ he decided regretfully as he studied his reflection; now that his hair was darker, it put his pale skin in sharp contrast. His dark circles from lack of sleep didn't help. _Not much I can do about that. No way I'm using a spell to change it._

He did, however, manage a simple spell to add a very light, faint dusting of freckles on his nose and cheeks. He absolutely hated how it looked, and it wouldn't be any help with anyone who knew him, but in a town full of strangers it would do. 

He went downstairs to the small dining area of the inn, where the girl he'd met the day before — _Ronan? —_ was wiping down the counter. 

"Morning!" she called cheerily. "You the one who came in yesterday — Aries wasn't it?" 

"Yeah," he said. 

"Thought so. None of the other customers had their faces hidden."

He nodded, biting his lip.

"You want breakfast, I'm assuming?" she asked, opening a cabinet and getting out a plate. "Special today is raspberry swirl French toast with fruit syrup, and your choice of coffee or tea. Two Sickles."

Draco nodded. "Alright. I'll have that, then." He got out the money and set it on the counter. Ronan smiled and walked away from the counter. 

"So, you seen much of the town yet?" she asked as she walked back and forth behind the counter, stirring eggs and milk together and flipping slices of toast in a skillet. The messy black bun at the back of her head swayed back and forth as she hurried to and fro. 

"Yeah," he answered. "The architecture is certainly something."

Ronan half-smiled, half-grimaced. "So you saw the-"

"The barn made out of toilet seats? Yes." He shook his head, sitting in one of the tall chairs by the counter. The dog he'd seen with Ronan the day before came trotting up, resting its head on his leg. 

"Germaine, don't bother the customers," Ronan scolded gently. She looked at Draco. "You can push her off if she's bothering you."

"She doesn't bite, does she?" Draco asked, looking at the dog. 

"No, she's a sweetheart. But she doesn't quite get the concept of personal space." 

"As long as she doesn't bite, I'm okay with it," he said, scratching the dog behind the ears. The dog panted, her eyes closing. "You said her name was Germaine?"

Ronan nodded. "After me aunt. Never liked her, but her name was pretty."

He nodded, running his hand through the dog's long fur. "I have a few relatives like that," he said. 

"I suppose everyone might," Ronan said. "Not all relatives can be pleasant."

Draco nodded. Ronan smiled. "How're you liking your stay?" 

"Pretty well. It's a definite step up from the last place I stayed." He smiled. "The view is nice." 

Ronan nodded. "I'm glad you like it. We charge extra for that."

Draco looked at her, not sure she was joking; when he saw the corners of her mouth twitching, he raised an eyebrow. She burst out in a fit of giggles. 

"Ah, that was a joke," she said, grinning. "Though, Shane thinks we should start charging, so many people say they love the view." 

Draco smiled. "Not a bad idea." 

Ronan smiled, turning back to the stove. "So, what brings you here? It's not much of a place for tourism."

He bit his lip, thinking of what to tell her. "My grandparents didn't want me around, so I left before they could make me." 

"Ah." She lit another burner on the stove, setting a teakettle upon it. "Well, I hope you find this is an improvement."

"Definitely." He leaned on the counter, still petting Germaine with one hand. 

"You heard about that rich pureblood kid who ran off, Malfoy or something?" Ronan asked. "They're having a hell of a time looking for him."

"Yeah, I've heard."

"You look a bit like him, you know. The nose or something."

Draco tensed. "Yeah, I get that a lot. We're cousins."

"Cousins? Really?" Ronan chuckled. "Should've figured, with Black in your surname."

"Yeah, it was on my father's side. He would've taken mother's last name but his parents hated the idea. He compromised and hyphenated." _I am really good at lying on the spot,_ he decided. _I should be a politician. Or a stand-up comedian._ "I've always looked a bit like Draco, though I think I'm better-looking." _Perhaps too good._

Ronan smiled. "Well, you're a sight nicer too, I'd wager. Never heard many nice things about him."

Draco grimaced. "Neither have I."

"Well, breakfast's ready." She slid a plate across the counter, smiling. "Tea will be just a moment. You know, you're one of the few people who've had the tea, most people just go for the coffee."

He smiled. "I'm just not really a coffee drinker."

"That's fair. I don't like either much, banana smoothies are just so much better."

"Never had one," Draco said, taking a bite of the French toast. "This is very good."

She smiled. "Thanks. Tips are encouraged!"

Draco chuckled. "I'll remember that."

Ronan have another radiant smile and turned back to the stove; Draco finished eating his breakfast and stood up. 

"I'll see you around later," he said. She gave a thumbs-up as he walked out, his spirits a little higher than before. 

xXx

Narcissa sat in the parlor, staring despondently at the carpet. Lucius sat beside her, his hand on her back, the dark circles under his eyes betraying how little he had slept. 

"How can this be happening to us?" Narcissa mumbled, her voice broken and hoarse from sobbing most of the night; now she felt she had no tears to cry anymore. "Lucius, I can't — I can't bear this anymore. Our own son is afraid of us. It's too much..."

Lucius glanced over at her. "I know, Narcissa..." He pressed a gentle kiss to her head. "I am so sorry..." 

She laid her head on his shoulder. "I wish he would come back..." 

"So do I." He took her hand in his, intertwining their fingers. "We just have to keep looking." 


	8. Chapter six: Old Tales

Draco's day was mercifully uneventful, and was able to explore more of the island he hadn't made it to the day before, including the small wood at the center of the island. He got lost several times, at one point stumbling into a clearing full of large, empty holes rather like open graves, which he had to be very careful not to fall into as he walked through. He left quickly, reminding himself to ask about the odd location in the future. 

He returned to the inn at dusk, going to the dining area, where Ronan was pouring drinks for the few other customers. 

"Aries," she greeted. "Can I get you anything? Special's roast beef on rye with onion soup. Three Sickles."

"That sounds good to me," Draco said, famished; he hadn't eaten since breakfast, the walking only adding to his hunger. He sat down, fishing the coins from his pocket. 

"See more of the sights?" Ronan asked conversationally, pouring a large glass of fizzy green liquid for an elderly witch in purple robes. 

"Just about all of them, I'd say," he replied. "I walked around probably the whole island."

"Really?" Ronan said. "Even the woods?" 

"Most of them. Got lost twice," he added. "Anything you know about a clearing full of holes?"

Ronan nodded. "Strangest story— bunch of idiots Polyjuiced into the family, who were out of town, then got cursed to death drunk duelling. They got buried in the family plot. After a while the _real_ family came back, alive and well. Bodies were exhumed and relocated, and the cemetery was left empty after the family moved away." 

Draco scoffed. _Idiots._ "Really? Why'd they Polyjuice into them?" 

Ronan shrugged. "For a laugh, I suppose. It was talk of the town for a long while — I was probably five when it happened." She smiled. "We've got a pretty colorful history."

"I remember that," the witch in purple said. "Group of potioneers from out-of-town. One of 'em caused trouble with Polyjuice before — drunk it along with too many Firewhiskies, slept with someone. Nobody could agree whose kid it was afterward — his or the fellow he'd turned into."

Draco shook his head. "That's one I've never heard before." 

"I'm full of those," the witch said. "Been here eighty-five years, you pick up some good stories. What about you?" She eyed him up and down. "You haven't been here, what brings you?"

"He's taking a retreat from some overbearing grandparents," Ronan said. "Right?"

Draco nodded, glad _one_ of them remembered his cover story. _I really need to write this stuff down._

"Ahh." The old witch nodded knowingly. "I ran away from my parents plenty of times — particularly when they brought _eligible young gentlemen_ into the picture. Arrangements like that were more common — encouraged, you know — back then. Didn't like the fellow they chose in the end. Horrible boy. Never liked his type — know-it-all, but no brains. And snobby to boot." She smiled. "I got out of it, though. Moved in with a friend from school. Married him."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "What did your parents say?"

She shrugged. "Wouldn't know. Haven't seen 'em since." She sipped her beverage, sighing. "Mum died soon after, I think, and Dad didn't invite me to the funeral."

"Oh." Draco looked down at the counter. "Sorry."

She shrugged. "I had a happy marriage. Four daughters, all of whom found someone they loved. The good outweighed the bad."

He nodded, still looking at the countertop. 

"Alright, Meg, don't bother the poor boy any more." Ronan slid a steaming bowl across the counter to Draco. "I lose more business to your mouth than to the competition." 

Draco looked at Ronan, taken aback at the manner in which she spoke to her elders; the witch, however, laughed. 

"Alright, Ronan. I'll leave you two alone." She winked, sliding a handful of coins across the counter to Ronan. "Don't have too much fun." 

Ronan's face flushed a pale pink as the old witch downed the rest of her drink and tottered off. 

"Don't mind Meg, she enjoys harassing tourists..." Ronan sighed. 

"I'm fine with it," Draco said, picking up half a sandwich from his plate. "Interesting town." 

"How long you planning on staying?"

Draco paused in chewing his sandwich, then swallowed quickly. "Not long."

"That's top bad." Ronan sighed. "Wish _I_ could travel. I've got the money, but _Shane_ thinks I'm too _young."_

"How old are you?" Draco asked curiously. 

"I'll be sixteen in less than a week," she replied sourly. 

"That's older than I am," Draco remarked. "Is Shane your guardian or something?"

"No, and that's the worst part." Ronan scowled, leaning on the counter. "He's just my boss who thinks he knows better than I do."

"If he's not your guardian, he can't stop you from leaving, can he?"

"I guess not." Ronan shrugged. "I also just don't know where I'd go. Don't really have anyone to go _with,_ and in the current situation..." She waved her hand over her head as if to gesture to the noncorporeal concept of the current social climate. 

"Probably not the best idea to travel alone," Draco agreed, thinking of the overheard conversation at Necrosis. 

Ronan smiled ruefully. "Especially if you're on the wrong side."

Draco nodded in agreement. The _Daily Prophet_ might not report on them, and the Ministry might deny it, but his parents had spoken of it often enough: disappearances, deaths, 'accidents' that were a little too clean to be accidental. It had started that way the first time around, too, he knew. The world slowly becoming unsafe for anyone who resisted the change. A week ago, he wouldn't have cared. 

"And our _esteemed Minister_ isn't doing anything about it, of course." Ronan sighed. "If it reaches here, I _will_ leave."

"Same here." Draco swirled his spoon around in his bowl.

"Well, I should go get ready to lock up." Ronan stood upright, stretching. "Have a nice night."

Draco looked up, a little startled. "You, too," he answered. "Night."

Ronan walked off, ponytail swaying, into the back room. Draco finished his food, leaving the money under the plate, and went up to his room. 

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the prologue! The story and backstory will be built up in the next chapter :)


End file.
